Beacon Hills High Stories
by Serafina Claremond
Summary: "Fuck yeah, he could do anything. He was the Jackson Whittemore." / Oneshot series dedicated to various Beacon Hills High School students / canon, non-canon, au.
1. Jackson Whittemore

**Author's Note:** Prompt fulfillment for stydia-fanfiction on tumblr! Enjoy!

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Walking back into Beacon Hills High School as a recent grad of an English private school felt good. Like _he_ won. Like he beat the system and the odds. From losing his biological parents to being estranged from his adopted family post-transformation, no one thought he stood a chance. But he did. And of course, he wouldn't pass on an opportunity to go back to his hometown and rub it in.

He headed towards his old locker, hoping someone worth enough would be using it now, but instead, the person he saw standing by it was Stilinski. Stilinski and Scott's group had changed drastically since he'd last seen it. No more Allison, no Isaac, Erica, or Boyd.

From what he could see, and smell, there were two sophomore boys (one human, one not), a kitsune (not unlike the one he'd met when his parents flew him to Hungary over Christmas break), and a were-coyote (quite different from the one he'd hooked up with over fall break his last year of private school). Stilinski was the closest one, but he couldn't greet him first. No way. He was _Jackson Whittemore_.

So he directed his attention to the short-haired brunette - the were-coyote - and swaggered up to them, the first words already coming out before the whole pack could process who was speaking. "I'm Jackson, and you are?"

The were-coyote's mouth curled into a scowl, her hands becoming fists, but the young kitsune placed her hand gently on her forearm, holding her back. "Y-you're back?"

The words didn't slip out from either of them, but instead, the gentle tug of the softness came from one familiar strawberry-blonde standing just out of his peripheral vision. He turned to get a good look at her. _Lydia._ Sure, when he moved to London with his parents, he broke off all ties with her to move on - so they could _both_ move on - and he was currently dating someone else, but there was something about the mere sight of Lydia Martin that warmed his heart.

Lydia, whose hair had been so often sprayed, curled, and well-kept to perfection, but today was up in a simple, tight ponytail and the lightness of her make-up was something he'd never thought could exist. Not with Lydia. Not with _his_ Lydia. But here she was, standing close to Stilinski, arms brushing here and there and he knew. She was his.

"For a bit," he replied, a gentleness in his voice that wasn't there when he'd turned on the smolder for the others. "Dad had to come back for a quick business trip and since spring break is different over there, thought I'd stop by. For free of course."

"Naturally, the wealthiest guy I know gets to travel overseas without spending a dime. Remind me, Scott, why is that fair?"

"Stilinski, McCall." He nodded at the boys, who were already in their lacrosse gear. "How's Coach?"

"Back from rehab. He feels pretty back to normal," Scott answered.

"Good, good. Some things never change, huh, Lyds? Going to practice to watch your guy?"

"I'm not dating Scott," she blurted.

Jackson squinted at her and glanced at Stilinski, who kept his eyes down. Carefully, he said, "I know that. Which I'm glad to see you're doing okay, after Allison."

"You know about that?"

"Lahey and Argent stopped by London after it happened before going off to France to find a suitable school for him to finish up at. A call from my dad didn't hurt either." He noticed Lydia had taken a visible step away from Stilinski. "But I'm glad to see all of you are doing somewhat okay. Keeping your lives moving. Making new friends, _dating people_."

Once his gaze hit the sophomores, the human excitedly said, "Wait, you are _the_ Jackson Whittemore. Beacon Hills High lacrosse legend?"

"The two of you never got good enough to eclipse me?" Jackson quipped.

"Never."

He turned his attention back to the boys.

"I'm Mason, human. This is Liam, angry werewolf."

"Were _pup_ ," Stilinski corrected. With that, the pack walked to practice; Jackson lingered in the back, watching Lydia purposefully walk with the kitsune and were-coyote, even as Stilinski kept sneaking glances back at her.

Coming to a stop at the edge of the lacrosse field, just a touch away from a screaming Coach, he suddenly asked, "Why aren't the two of you dating?"

They all gave him blank stares and Scott was the first to ask, "What?"

"Lydia and Stilinski." The sophomores ran off immediately, eager to get away from the tension Jackson could feel settling in.

"W-what makes you say that?" Stilinski stammered, scratching the back of his neck.

"Well, when I asked about how Lydia was doing Lahey mentioned the two of you. And I'd be a liar if I say I never suspected a potential connection between you guys when I was in town."

"Jackson, you wouldn't understand…." Lydia replied, her eyes unable to focus on any one person in the pack.

"But I do," he argued. "You guys have always been compatible. Highly intelligent, clever, the banter, unafraid of calling the other out. Not to mention, he saved you from Peter because he somehow knew where to find _you_."

"W-what?"

"Jackson." The two of them awkwardly stared at him as the rest of the pack shifted their gazes away. "How do you know about that?"

"Peter said a lot of crazy shit around Derek when he was training me. But we both knew he was telling the truth about that."

"Lyds, I don't- you don't owe me anything for saving you. Never have."

"I-I know that. It's just, Jackson. You don't get it. Malia and Stiles dated and I'm over high school boys anyway and it just wouldn't work out."

The were-coyote, who he presumed to be Malia, said, "He has a point. Even when Stiles and I dated, I could hear your heartbeats. Even now, the two of you, together, the smells—"

"The pheromones, the nervousness, the anxiety. It's there. You like each other," Scott finished. Lydia looked at the Alpha werewolf, a sense of betrayal coming off her, before slinking away to the parking lot, without so much as a simple goodbye.

"Oops."

"Why'd you do that, man? All of you? We've had a good thing going, this pack."

"Because the two of you like each other. All of the non-humans here can tell. I'm gonna stay here and watch practice. But you need to go after her, Stilinski. Before you lose her to someone worse. Someone who will treat her like I did."

"But—"

"No. That is Lydia _fucking_ Martin. Do something or you'll lose."

Without another word, he ran towards the parking lot. And Jackson smirked. _Fuck yeah_ , he could do anything.

He was _the Jackson Whittemore._


	2. Lydia Martin AU

She paced back and forth in her room, with a boy perched on her bed — a sight not quite unknown, but a sight gone unseen since before he started his new relationship. She turned to him and stammered, "S-stiles. I…."

This was completely unlike her. She was Lydia Martin. Confident, popular, flirtatious. It's who she was. At least, it was before she met Allison. Before she befriended Scott. Before Stiles. She fell back onto her bed, on the opposite side of the concerned boy, and groaned as her head hit her plush pillow.

He reached for her fingers, as means of comfort, but she retracted them immediately. Gently, he asked, "Lydia, what is it? What did you need to tell me?"

"I wanted to tell you that," she whispered, "that it shouldn't be this difficult."

Her eyes stayed shut, she wanted to keep him out and keep him from seeing her true feelings as she confessed to him her deepest insecurities and secrets.

"What exactly is difficult?"

"Telling you everything."

He knew. He knew what she wanted to say. "Lydia, it's okay. I know you can do this."

Lydia sat up swiftly and looked him dead in the eyes. And it was that soft way he looked at her, like he knew what she was thinking and feeling, that made her back stiffen. Why did he always have to know? "It's about Stiles."

"I know that." Scott tilted his head, the corners of his mouth turning slightly upward. There was a hint of something upbeat in his voice as he stated, "I've always known."

"You have?"

"I'm a werewolf, remember? You reeked of jealousy over winter break when he told us he slept with Malia at Eichen. And it was even worse on the way to Mexico," he explained. "But it was in the way you smiled at Parrish or said his name that really sold it. It was like you were trying too hard to get over Stiles."

"I must be too obvious if you don't even need your werewolf senses to see right through me."

"Or you're both my best friends and I know the two of you well enough."

"Scott, how do I do this?" she asked. As an afterthought, she rolled her eyes and admitted, "I've never felt lost over a boy before."

"Of course you haven't, Lydia. Because they always liked you when you liked them. Or wanted to hook up with them."

"But not Stiles. He didn't want me like that. He moved on and stopped waiting."

"Would you have preferred he sit around and wait for you? Wait for you to maybe develop feelings?"

"No. No." She shook her head. "You're right."

"Stiles did wait for you. He waited until he realized he shouldn't anymore. That it wasn't right. Either you had to figure it out on your own, or it wasn't meant to be."

"It's why he abandoned his ten year plan," she commented.

"What? Lydia." Scott shook his head, laughing. "Would you really have wanted your relationship to be based on the fact that he clung and obsessed over some plan he made when we were all eight years old?"

"N-no," she repeated again, her voice nothing but a whisper. Her friend put his arm around her, pulling her close. "I can't have feelings for him. He loves Malia."

Scott hesitated before telling her, "They broke up."

"Oh?" She sat up straight. "Since when?"

Her eyes were lit up but her lips stayed pursed. "A little while ago."

" _Oh_."

She didn't care to elaborate or ask him anything more. And after a few minutes, Scott began to realize that that might be the last thing she would say to him. But he stayed sitting next to her for a bit more time, before realizing he needed to head out for his date with Kira. Even as he got up to leave, he hesitated at her doorway, hoping she'd retract what she said. Realize that even though she knew he knew, she never once admitted, out loud, that she, Lydia Marin, had feelings for his best friend. Because once she did that, once she strung together the words with no gaps or empty spaces, she wouldn't feel quite lost anymore.

When Lydia looked up again to say goodbye, the werewolf was gone and her eyes lingered at her doorway, remembering the first time Stiles had come to her room. The first time she remembered Stiles coming into her room. And then every time after, constantly wanting to help her learn to control her powers. The nights he had nightmares after his sacrifice, the nights after coming out of Eichen when it was too much for her to sleep.

 _Stiles._

At the moment, she found herself hoping he'd appear. One tiny, light tap on her door, a split second before entering, and subtle shift at the right corner of her bed. His routine, his signal, his way of coming into her space - so unlike Jackson or Aiden or even Jordan.

Together they were seemingly insignificant: all light touches and clever quips. Subtle, slight, slow. It was how she realized how she felt.

It was the day he'd gone back to Mexico with the pack to save Scott, without her. Or maybe later, the night before senior year at the library. Maybe when they went to visit Valack and talk about the Dread Doctors or when he'd pleaded with Malia to keep him updated. It was the constant combination of drastically different changes and the return of comfortable, familiar routines — a constant tug-of-war between missing him on her own and missing him even when he was beside her.

There was no specific moment she could pinpoint her epiphany: she found herself entrenched and surrounded and lost, too late and already in the middle of things with no chance of getting out on her own. There was no way of telling him how or when or why now, just that she did. That she was in love with —

There was one tiny, light tap on her door. "Lydia?"

"Stiles."


	3. Spring Break: College Edition

She was resting her head on his shoulder, quietly asleep, except every so often she murmured his name. "Stiles. Stiles."

Her hair was mussed, lipstick rubbed off from all the popcorn they'd eaten, and her cheek was turning red from being pressed against him for so long. But here she was, even with all the complications during their spring break, smiling in her sleep.

She'd been the one to suggest this, asking if she could take the train from Stanford to visit him. He tried his best not to sound over eager when he accepted, but Stiles was pumped. Their summer after graduation from BHHS was incredible: they hung out every day, playing detective if something supernatural came up or just relaxing by the pool together. Every day she seemed closer and closer to telling him she felt the same way. Especially once they found out that Malia had moved on and was dating Isaac. He could finally, finally be hers.

But then she didn't and they split up: Stiles to UC Berkeley, Lydia to Stanford. They said their goodbyes, with pretty promises to stay in touch and video-chat weekly, but not a single word was spoken about the two of them.

College got in the way of their promises, their coursework piling exponentially through their semesters — though their content was harder, the speed of their studies never quite matched that of their friends at quarter-system schools. Close to the end of their semester, during one of his weekly phone calls with Scott, his best friend asked why he hadn't mentioned her name anymore. He didn't even have an answer other than a quick lie of "we're just too busy." Winter break came and went; they spent the few days of Christmas with their families before going back to their respective campuses right after. The pack just didn't have time to all be together.

So when she called him up without warning a few weeks into the new semester, he was eager to catch up and video-chat. But the strawberry-blonde genius had another idea: her fancy private school and his humble public school had matching spring breaks. She'd take the train, he'd provide free housing — it was perfect. Stiles would finally have his moment.

But about a week and an ambiguous apologetic text from Lyd later, Scott called excitedly, rattling off about how he just talked to Lydia and was in the process of buying train tickets for him and Kira to hang out in Berkeley with them. He explained that Kira was already flying up from Los Angeles to visit him at UC Davis and this would be a great opportunity for most of the pack to be together again.

It wouldn't be too bad, Stiles had assumed. Sure, he and Lydia would get fewer days alone together, since Scott and Kira still wanted a couple days to themselves at his campus, but they would still get some. And then the day before her train ride, Lydia called to meekly suggest he invite Isaac to take the BART from University of San Francisco, since Scott invited Malia to take the train with him from Sacramento. _Oh what joy._

He tried to be the perfect host, picking up extra towels and sheets for his (uninvited) guests and bribing his roommate to lend his room to Stiles' lustful friends for the week. He was now in debt and would be working it off for the rest of time through chores. But oh well, at least she was here now and they were trying to watch _Return of the Jedi_ , the last movie in their marathon for the night. Fortunately for him, Malia and Isaac had gone out for a night in the city since she wanted to at least see her boyfriend's campus and Scott and Kira disappeared halfway through _The Empire Strikes Back_ to retire for the night. Or fuck. Whichever.

Stiles ran his fingers through her hair, before dropping his hand to lightly trace circles on her exposed leg. He dare not go too high, in case her murmurs of his name were out of anger. But then Lydia shifted slightly, a bit too eagerly with her hips, and moaned quietly, " _Stiles_."

He jolted this time, surprised by the intensity in her voice, and the sudden shifting in his own pants. "Stiles?"

"Yeah, L-Lydia?" He stuttered.

"I fell asleep, didn't I?"

"A little before the _climax_ ," he answered, playfully reaching for her fingertips.

"I'm so sorry, Stiles. This break isn't at all what I had in mind. First the pack shows up and then I fall asleep during one of your favorite movies. But I just passed out."

"And had a seriously good dream?"

"What?"

Stiles chuckled. "When I looked to check on you, you were grinning."

"Oh. I thought you were gonna say I was sleep-talking again. I do that a lot."

"Nope," he assured her. "Just grinning. Must've been a good dream, right?"

She flushed a deep red and dropped her gaze immediately. "It was, uh, something alright."

"You don't want to talk about it?" He asked, not trying at all to sound cheeky. "As one of your best friends, I'd love to hear about your good dreams."

"Stiles," she started to say, knowingly avoiding his question. "We're finally alone. We haven't been, since, well—"

"Summer."

"Summer," Lydia repeated. She looked up at him again, eyes wide, and he saw that hint of sparkle he'd grown so used to at the end of their high school careers. After the nogitsune for him, Eichen for her, they both could finally have heart-to-hearts without one of them being in scrubs. "Stiles, I dreamt about you."

"Oh?"

"It's always you." She put a hand on his thigh and leaned in, murmuring, "Always you."

He stiffened again, his breath caught. "M-me?"

"Mhm." Lydia put her other hand around the back of Stiles' neck and pulled him down to her, pressing her lips against his. Her tongue boldly swiped against his lower lip, earning a slight moan from the back of his throat. Pulling away, she teased, "But you already knew that."

"W-what?"

"You weren't at all surprised when I told you I was dreaming about you."

"I didn't."

"Not at all. I was talking in my sleep again, wasn't I?"

He flipped her over and tackled her in response. Her wrists were pinned under his and smirking, he requested, "Please dream about me more."

And then they finally did all the things they should have been doing before their friends invited themselves along on their vacation.


End file.
